


Until We Meet Again

by pale_morning_sings_of_forgotten_things



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU Twins, Alternate Universe, Although mostly just fluff in the beginning and then it all goes south, Angst, Background Relationships, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black is a Good Sibling, Regulus is damned, Regulus still dies, Sirius Black Deserves Better, Sirius Black is a Good Sibling, Sirius and Regulus are TWINS, Sirius is worried, Walburga Black Bashing, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, also lots of swearing, and i think there's a few others slipped in, because sometimes normal words aren't enough, both sirius and remus swear like sailors for one, implied wolfstar, surprise, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pale_morning_sings_of_forgotten_things/pseuds/pale_morning_sings_of_forgotten_things
Summary: What if Sirius and Regulus were twins, instead?---“He does it to protect you,” Remus whispers, accidentally spilling his thoughts in the darkness.“Wish he didn’t,” Sirius whispers back, so quiet that Remus probably wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t a werewolf. “It’s unfair.”“How so?” Remus murmurs in return, his brows furrowed; something Sirius, of course, can’t see.“I want to protect him too,” Sirius replies and his voice is hollow. “We were supposed to protect each other. Or I, mostly, since I’m older.”“By minutes Sirius.” It slips out of his mouth before he even registers the thought.“Still,” Sirius mutters brokenly. “He wants to protect me, which I suppose he does but he’s also leaving me in absolute misery. It’s hell Remus, not knowing where he is. My magic still searches for his, you know?”Remus doesn't, but nods anyway.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black & Sirius Black & Walburga Black, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 35
Kudos: 123





	Until We Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a long one

Sirius looks down and catches Regulus’ hand in his, looking up just in time to see his brother turning his head from the crowd to Sirius. Silver meets silver and Sirius smiles. 

He would’ve much rather spent the night hanging out with Regulus on their landing, but his parents forced them to be here, instead. It’s a family tradition, they said. Regulus nodded and Sirius pouted but neither of them argued, knowing that it wouldn't help. 

They can force him to be here instead but his parents can’t force him to not spend time with Regulus. Except from Andromeda, perhaps, Regulus is the sole person in the entire building that he wants to hang out with, anyway. So he’ll stick but Regulus side the entire night, and he won’t have it any other way.

Sirius is nothing if he isn’t stubborn.

Regulus smiles back at Sirius, eyes soft. Sirius’ smile grows a little bit more. The buzz from the party and their relatives and family friends seems far away. 

Regulus has and will probably always be softer than Sirius. Sirius likes that about him, because even at eight, he knows he can be a bit too brash sometimes. Their eyes are the exact same colour but the way Sirius’ is sharper and Regulus’ more gentle, they look different still. 

Otherwise, they’re each other’s mirror, especially now when they’re dressed in almost identical clothing. The same pale skin, the same shiny black hair forced into a neat style.

He wonders how their mother could ever tell the difference. She probably couldn’t; a concern Regulus has raised a couple of times. How do they know Sirius is actually Sirius? How do they know who’s really the heir?

Sirius thinks about this sometimes. Every now and then, he would happily give over the title to Regulus, and then other days he kind of likes it. It’s sort of fun actually having some weight to his words. Knowing that his family will have to listen to him, even if they don’t want to. For now at least, when there’s not so many responsibilities and expectations yet. 

He knows that Regulus thinks it’s hard sometimes, though. He can see it in his eyes, the way they dull when their parents pay more attention to Sirius, the way his shoulder slump when they only teach some things to Sirius. It makes Sirius sad to see Regulus sad, but on top of that, _Regulus_ is the one who really wants to learn everything. He _wants_ to read and to learn about history and complicated spells. Sirius just wants to be outside, feel the wind in his hair and be free. 

Not that he’s stupid, because he isn’t. He learns well too. Regulus is just more interested. 

“Sirius, let go of Regulus’ hand,” comes the deep, booming voice of their father from behind and Regulus tenses up, still as a statue. “You’re too old for this.”

Sirius does too, but not as much as Regulus. 

He doesn’t let go but Regulus wiggles his hand out of Sirius’ grip, avoiding both Orion’s and Sirius’ eyes; staring at the floor instead. 

With a somewhat pleased hum, the imposing presence of Orion Black moves away from his spot behind the boys, and with a fiery determination, Sirius doesn’t hesitate to reach out a grab Regulus’ hand again, not caring about his father’s scolding one bit. Across the room, he can see Bellatrix watching them, lifting an eyebrow, but Sirius just glares back. 

Regulus looks unsure. “But father-”

“I don’t care what father says,” Sirius says steadily, turning his gaze back to Regulus. “We are not too old, and we’ll never be _too old.”_

* * *

“Black, Regulus,” the professor calls out and Regulus feels himself stepping forward as if on autopilot. 

Which is good because if he thought too much about the walking part he’d probably topple over. 

At this moment, he wishes that he had another name. Something that starts T or perhaps U. 

Because then Sirius would get called before him. 

His mind is a jumbled mess, constantly switching between two vastly different options, turning them over and over again. One of them his heart screams for and then the other is the only rational one, or at least according to his brain. 

If he’d already known where Sirius ended up, then it’d be much easier to choose. More than anything he would like to be in the same house as his brother. Or well, he isn’t sure if he wants that the most, or if he wants to keep the peace at home. 

Most of all he wonders why his parents hadn’t thought of this, when they named them. It has always been Sirius first in all other regards. 

The entire school is looking at him as he slowly sits down on the chair. He knows what they must be thinking, _‘another Black, must be Slytherin then’_. He can see it especially in the way Narcissa looks not at all nervous but rather confident. He thinks he can see it in the worried, bright eyes of his twin brother as Sirius stands in front of the group of first years, looking at it intently. 

_“Regulus Black,”_ someone says into his ear pensively and Regulus flinches. In the tension of the moment, he hadn’t even noticed the hat being gently placed on his head. “Don’t forget to breathe, my boy.”

Regulus doesn’t quite like the way the hat — that sort of smells like dust — calls him _‘his boy’,_ but sucks in a trembling breath nevertheless. It’s hard though, with hundreds of eyes on you. He feels frozen yet very warm and a little dizzy. It does feel better though, when he gets some air into his lungs. He hadn’t even realised that they were aching. 

“That’s better,” the hat comments and it sounds amused. “And it’s rude to call someone dusty. Even if they’re just a hat.”

_I’m sorry,_ Regulus thinks immediately and the hat snorts. He didn’t know hats could snort like that. 

“Now, what to do with you, Regulus?” the hat goes on. “You’re an intriguing one, young Black.”

Regulus doesn’t see himself as very intriguing. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad.

“If family history is anything to go by, I’d have you put in Slytherin immediately,” the hat muses and Regulus resists the urge to shake his head.

_Sirius is not fit for Slytherin, so it’s not._

“Your brother, I suppose?” 

_Yes. And he’s not a Slytherin. So family history doesn’t really matter._ It’s the first time Regulus admits it to himself. It’s starting to sink in that he won’t, he can’t be in the same house as his brother which terrifies him because he hasn’t done anything without Sirius and nor does he want to. 

“I agree with you there, Regulus. Because you don’t cross me as a Slytherin either. Sure, you wouldn’t do bad there. You’ve got a cunning mind, although you don’t show it very often. Very much a perfectionist, but not a natural leader nor very ambitious.”

_But I have to be in Slytherin._ Mother and father would be livid if neither of them were. And Sirius is not going to be, so he needs to get into the house, for the both of them. 

“Is that so?” The hat questions. “I’d still like to tempt you with other options. You are quite brave, you see, when it matters.”

Regulus doesn’t see himself as very brave either. And he doesn’t think he’ll fit in well in Gryffindor. And what would they say, if they’d both be in Gryffindor? Because Gryffindor is the house for Sirius, if not Slytherin. 

_I’m not brave._

“I’d like to differ, although I don’t think it’d matter much. You’re set in your way, are you not?” The hat replies. 

Regulus doesn’t respond to that. 

“If not Gryffindor, how about Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? I think you’d do well in either of these houses. You’re very loyal, and hard-working. And you have a great mind, you see. A thirst for knowledge I don’t see very often.”

_ I can’t. _

“Are you sure? It’s seven years or your life.”

_Yes. I have to be in Slytherin._

“Ambition and leadership can be practiced, I suppose.”

_ Yes. It will have to work. _

“If you’re so sure, then it better be, SLYTHERIN!”

The first thing he notices is Narcissa smirking, standing up elegantly as she claps her hands together. 

He would’ve noticed Sirius’ expression first, if he dared to look at his brother. 

If he hadn’t felt so anxious he would’ve scoffed. _Brave?_ Not a chance. 

“Black, Sirius!” the professor calls out as Regulus walks with wobbly legs towards the Slytherin table.

He can feel Sirius’ sharp eyes on his neck as he does, but still doesn’t dare to look over his shoulder, scared that he might fall. 

It’s only when he sits down, next to his fair-haired cousin who makes room for him by getting another Slytherin to shuffle away, that he looks up to Sirius. His brother has a defiant expression on his face, and Regulus can just tell that he’s arguing with the hat as well. 

He wonders what they’re talking about. Is the hat telling him what Regulus said about Sirius? Would it make Sirius' decision easier if he knew Regulus thought he’d fit well into the house of the lions?

Either way, Regulus feels a little less stressed and breathes a little easier. His gaze drifts to the house of blue and bronze and wonders if he made the right decision. Hufflepuff is not an option if he wants to return home for Christmas break but Ravenclaw has always been tempting. If he’d choose for himself, his family’s opinion out of the way, he’d probably go for them. 

But then he looks at Sirius and he feels more sure. He needs to compensate, because there’s no way that hat calls out Slytherin. Not if Sirius gets his way. And if neither are in Slytherin, all hell would break loose. He stares intently at Sirius, who in turn stares intently at nothing, the air, somewhere above the heads of the students.

Slytherin isn’t bad. Andromeda was and Narcissa — who sends him a small smile — is a Slytherin and Regulus likes them both. Cunning and ambition are noble traits. Desirable. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

The hat is lifted off Sirius’ hair and their eyes meet. There’s no proudness on Sirius’ face. Not immediately at least. He just looks at Regulus and seems as hesitant as Regulus feels. His entire demeanour seems to question how this is all going to work out.

The Great Hall is quiet for a second or two before the Gryffindor table stands up, applauding loudly. A tentative smile curls Sirius’ lip as his attention is grabbed by them instead, the way it’ll be from now on, Regulus supposes. 

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

He’ll just have to figure this out by himself.

Sometime will have to be the first, right? They weren’t going to be inseparable forever. 

Still, his nose starts burning when he sees his best friend and brother walk towards the other table, just like it always does right before he starts crying. So he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, vaguely aware of Narcissa’s gentle hand coming to rest on his back, slowly rubbing it. 

* * *

_ “Are you sure that you’re on my side, Reg? Because you never show it.” _

The words still ring in Regulus’ ears, hours after they were uttered, taunting him. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to concentrate on his book, it’s still there, in the background. Lighting an uncomfortable, burning fire in his chest, that burns up his throat. 

When he closes his eyes, he can still see Sirius’ disappointed, hesitant eyes in front of him.

He hates that look. He hated the bitterness in Sirius’ words, the way he questioned it. 

Regulus has _always_ been on Sirius’ side and _always_ will be. It doesn’t matter that they have different friends that pull them away from each other. Friends that believe vastly different things. Regulus is still on Sirius’ side and doesn’t intend to give that up anytime soon. 

But maybe Sirius is right. Maybe he needs to prove that he is in fact an unwavering ally to his brother, maybe he hasn’t _shown_ it enough. Because as much as he loves his parents — he can’t bring himself to stop — he hates the way they, his mother in particular, treat Sirius. The breaks from Hogwarts have always been rough on him; ever since the news that Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor reached Walburga and Orion, Sirius can do no good. 

It doesn’t get better when they use Regulus as an example, of how Sirius should be. But Regulus hasn’t protested, he just looks down at his plate in front of him, sitting still in his seat as Sirius argues. He’s ashamed of it now, when Sirius has raised his thoughts. 

_ “Or maybe you enjoy being the perfect son, way too much? Finally in the limelight?” _

He doesn’t know how to explain that he isn’t in the limelight at all. His existence is only important and acknowledged when it comes to scolding Sirius. And nor does he enjoy it.

So when Walburga thinks he’s Sirius, he plays along. She can’t tell that it’s him through the dim lightning in the hallway. The lanterns along the wall aren't enough. They look too similar. 

“Yes, dear mother, it’s me,” he replies when she calls his twin’s name, forcing a twinge of arrogance into his voice.

No one is better than Regulus at impersonating Sirius. He’s even better at impersonating Sirius than Sirius is at impersonating him. He’s more attentive. A better actor. 

“I thought I told you not to come down here again,” Walburga says, inching closer. She’s tall and imposing, and Regulus and Sirius have yet to grow past her. 

Although Regulus suspects that he’ll hold no less fear for his mother when he does. 

“Well, I was hungry,” Regulus replies, shrugging. Sirius has always been very good to mask his fear, better than Regulus. And for now, he is Sirius, so he tries to do the same. “Sorry mum, but I unfortunately still live here.”

It isn’t a lie that he’s hungry. Starving in fact. He hadn’t been able to eat much with his mother and Sirius screaming at each other. 

Walburga has always been fast with her wand — unpredictable, striking like a vapour — but Regulus sees it coming with the way her face twists into searing, uncontrollable anger, before she lifts her wand. 

He bites down on his lip, hard, in an attempt to not scream. 

He doesn’t in the end, stunned and frozen still, forced into silence by fear and pain.

Half an hour later, Regulus tries to pull himself up the last bit and it’s just a few steps left, he’s so close, but his arms tremble so much that _he_ _can’t_ and they bend underneath his weight against his will and his upper body collapses against the stairs, knocking the air out of his chest. 

He lies there, exhausted and in _a lot_ of pain to say the least. He can’t even feel the sharp edge of the step underneath his head pressing into his bruised cheekbone when put in comparison to the rest of his body. 

His back throbs and he feels nauseous and still he closes his eyes and hopes that sleep will take him sooner rather than later. He’s in much pain and in a very uncomfortable position, laid out in the stairs like this, so it doesn’t go very well. 

Sleep won’t come, he hopes for nothing. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when someone chokes out his name from somewhere above and vibrations travel through his body as someone hurries down the stairs to meet him.

“Oh Merlin, Reggie,” Sirius gasps and for a moment his hands are everywhere and nowhere at once because he doesn’t know what to do but in the end he grabs Regulus’ shoulders and pulls him up to the landing. 

They’re pretty much the same size — Regulus is just a tiny bit skinnier, probably because he’s pickier with his food — so Regulus is quite impressed that Sirius manages to carry him up to their rooms. 

“Fuck, Reggie,” Sirius chokes as he adjusts his grip around Regulus’ waist and Regulus’ field of vision blackens out for a moment. “What the fuck-”

“‘M sorry,” Regulus mutters right before he passes out. 

Sirius is angry when he wakes up. He lies next to him in the bed, close but not close enough to touch. It’s dark in the room, so dark he can’t seem much more than the vague light that the streetlights outside the window, behind the heavy curtains, cast on the ceiling, as well as Sirius’ silhouette. He can’t even tell if they’re in Sirius’ or his own room, not by sight at least. Although it feels like his own. 

“What the hell did you do, Reggie?” Sirius asks from besides him, through the darkness. His voice is filled with anger but wavering still. 

Regulus can hear the lump in his throat and he doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know what to say. 

“What did you do?” Sirius presses, shifting so that his elbow touches Regulus’.

Regulus opens his mouth and closes it again. Taking a beating for Sirius seems so completely stupid now, with how angry Sirius is. 

Sirius sighs, the anger melts away. Finally. 

“You pretended to be me, didn’t you?” he asks, quietly. He sounds choked. 

Regulus hums in confirmation. 

Sirius sniffles and a burning sensation erupts in Regulus’ chest. He doesn’t want Sirius to cry. 

“I shouldn’t have, it was stupid,” Regulus whispers to try to make it better. Then he swallows — an attempt to get rid of the dryness in his throat — and braces himself a little for what he’s about to say next. “But if it helped, if it’s one less for you, then I’m not sorry.”

Sirius sobs, and reaches up a hand to wipe at his eyes. His forearm rubs against Regulus’ as he does. It’s all fucked. So wrong and this isn’t at all better, like he hoped it would be. 

“Fuck, R-Reggie,” Sirius breathes. “It’s… it isn’t r-right.”

Regulus doesn’t reply again. His own eyes burn too and it feels lame to just say _‘I agree’._

“She’s our mother, sh-she should… at the _very_ _least_ , be able to tell the difference between you and me,” Sirius hisses and the corners of Regulus’ mouth curve upwards for a second, despite none of this being funny.

Despite being so uncomfortable that he wishes he could just pass out once more. 

It’s just the way Sirius says it that’s quite amusing. It’s such a low requirement for a mother. 

“Please, _please_ … promise me that you w-won’t get hurt because of _me_ , not again, please,” Sirius chokes out, and there’s a rustling sound as Sirius turns his head to Regulus, looking at him. 

Unless Sirius doesn’t have much greater night vision than Regulus, he probably can’t see Regulus’ face very well, so Regulus doesn’t put on the mask he often wears at school, the cool, confident one. There’s no need and logically, he _knows_ he shouldn’t. Not with Sirius, not unless he wants to make things worse. It’s just so easy sometimes to let it slip on though. 

Regulus doesn’t promise Sirius what he wants. However, he does reach out his hand — slowly because it hurts — and catches Sirius’ in his. 

Sirius adjusts his grip, grabbing Regulus’ hand more firmly than Regulus initially had the energy to. 

It’s been a long while since they did this, but they’re not too old because _they never will be._

* * *

“And Black catches the snitch effortlessly, and the game is over! Slytherin has won with 200 points against Gryffindor’s 80! Fantastic effort by Slytherin’s Black, not so much by the other-”

The voice that booms through the stadium is cut off, probably by McGonagall, who never tolerates sarcastic remarks against players. It’s only that most of the time, there are, which makes Sirius wonder if McGonagall should not just commentate the matches herself instead.

There’s a splashing sound once his feet get planted into the rain-soaked grass of the pitch. He cringes, feeling the water seep into them, but he’s too angry to get too distracted. 

Behind him, James is setting off a long row of swear words, even angrier than Sirius, which is a hard task to succeed in. Neither of them are great losers, and if that’s just a Gryffindor trait or a coincidence, he doesn’t know.

It doesn’t get better once he sees Regulus, the hero of the match himself, land gracefully a few meters away. He watches his brother shake his head, water flying from his soaked fringe that sticks right back onto his forehead as soon as he’s done, falling back into his grey eyes. 

Sirius glares and it only gets worse when Regulus meets his eyes, lifts an eyebrow and smirks.

“Hey!” Sirius exclaims, walking towards him with long strides before he can control himself. He pushes his wet hair that’s really getting long out of his face so that he can see better. “Wipe that grin off your face, you only won because you were playing dirty. Your beater purposefully sent that bludger towards our chaser’s head!”

_“Hey,”_ Regulus mimics, his expression turning sour, his eyes shooting daggers just like Sirius’ do, from underneath his black fringe. “I don’t know anything about that, so if you’re gonna whine then you might as well take it up with the referee. I caught the snitch. You didn’t stand a chance.”

“Shut the f-” James begins, stepping forwards now, shoulder to shoulder with Sirius, blinking furiously against the heavy rain. He almost slips, steadying himself by grabbing his friend’s upper arm. 

“QUIET!” Avery, the Slytherin team captain roars as he comes into view behind Regulus. 

He’s a huge and quite scary bloke, Sirius has to admit, quite a lot taller than Sirius, Regulus and James as well as two years their senior. 

He comes to a stop next to Regulus — who looks really wiry in comparison — crossing his arms over his broad chest. He nails Sirius and James with an icy blue gaze. 

“Was there something you wanted, Potter and other-Black?” he asks, voice even but with a threatening tinge. “Because then you can take it up with me. Or the whole team, perhaps?”

Behind him, all of the Slytherins — previously cheering — have all stopped; gone quiet and staring at the two Gryffindors left on the pitch. The others have gone inside to the locker room, deeming the autumn rain too cold to stay out in. 

Sirius just glares. James opens his mouth and closes it again, for once deciding that maybe it isn’t worth it. 

Behind them, there’s a familiar voice shouting. It’s Remus, but both of them ignore him for now.

Avery turns his hard eyes to Sirius, and Sirius alone. 

“Your brother here,” Avery begins, curling an arm around Regulus' shoulders, an arm that looks quite heavy with the way Regulus sags down a bit, “is the best seeker our house, hell, the _entire_ school has seen in decades. You should be proud, Black.”

Regulus stands quiet, looking between Sirius and Avery now, expression smoother but unsure if anything. Sirius looks away from Avery, to Regulus. Their eyes meet, silver on silver.

For a second it’s completely still: no sounds except for the hammering rain pouring over them like a shower. Everything is tense, everyone staring at each other. 

Regulus looking at Sirius, and Sirius watching him in return. James glaring at the entire Slytherin team by himself. 

Sirius’ mouth feels dry and his heart hammers with adrenaline, anger and the twinge of guilt that’s always there when it comes to Regulus. And longing, that’s always present as well. 

The silence drags on until Remus calls for him and James from behind them. Telling them that they should forget it and come inside because it’s getting _‘bloody cold’._

And he’s right. Sirius is freezing, trembling, which he hopes the Slytherins don't notice. Although, Regulus does, because Sirius’ brother notices everything. He’s never been able to hide an injury or anything of the sort. 

His hair is cold and wet as well and drops of water fall from the tips of it into his face and he has to try very hard to resist the urge to wipe the drops away as they trail down his face, tickling it. His cheeks burn with cold, and perhaps a little bit of embarrassment as well, although he would never admit that. 

“Unless you’re childish enough to let the colours of his robes blind you, which wouldn’t be below you lot, I suppose,” Avery finishes, giving Regulus another squeeze. 

Behind them, the rest of the green-clad quidditch players walk up to their captain and seeker, giving the two in the red robes a collective glare before enveloping Avery and Regulus in a group hug, before they begin chanting again, jumping, dancing, yelling out their happiness. 

Meanwhile, a hand is placed firmly on Sirius' shoulder. He looks up and over it to meet Remus’ hazel gaze, steady and serious. Sirius hates being told what to do, and normally he doesn’t particularly like that look _that_ his friend sometimes has on his face, but now he welcomes it. Welcoming Remus taking command, indirectly telling him to gather himself and stop being an idiot. 

“We should leave,” he says and there’s no room for argument. 

The anger has melted away anyway, so Sirius is not in the mood to, anyway. 

So he lets Remus lead him away from the Slytherins. James goes first, steps long and sulking. Peter is second, struggling to keep up and then it’s Sirius and Remus at the end. Remus keeps a hand on his back, leading him forward, steadily but surely. Sirius does however cast one last glance over his shoulder, looking for his brother. He catches sight of him — he’s being tossed in the air by his teammates, a huge smile on his face that he turns up to the grey sky — and it results in a squeeze somewhere in his chest. 

Maybe Avery was right. Maybe he is a little prat and really he should be proud of his brother. 

But, now that he comes to think of it, he knows that deep down he already is. 

He’s just a prat. 

* * *

Sirius is worried about him. Regulus can tell. He doesn’t have to be though, because Regulus knows what he’s doing. 

The way Sirius seems to think he knows better is getting on his nerves and he doesn’t know if it’s a Gryffindor thing or a ‘I’ve-been-groomed-to-become-an-heir-and-the-head-of-you-since-as-long-as-I-can-remember’-thing.

Sirius thinks Regulus is getting mixed up with the wrong type of people which Regulus thinks is rich because Sirius doesn’t know them and if he bothered to get to know Regulus’ friends the way Regulus’ knows of Sirius’ friends just by Sirius talking about them so much, then he’d know that all Slytherins aren’t bad. 

Regulus has finally found his own friends, who don't think he is a lesser copy and a shadow of his brother. And it means a lot, even though it’s perhaps a low requirement for a friend. 

And he doesn’t want to listen to Sirius telling him what to do considering he might be Sirius. How can they know for sure? 

“Worry about your new brother,” Regulus tells him once Sirius corners him in an empty hallway late one evening to raise his concerns. 

It’s no confusion as to who he means. Potter. 

It hurts him to say and judging by Sirius’ expression it hurts to hear. It’s like ice against bare skin; it burns his heart. Especially when he can feel Sirius’ magic reaching out towards him, calling for his, for its counterpart. 

Sirius looks devastated. Eyebrows furrowed and eyes glimmering in the moonlight coming in through the windows and mouth hanging open, as if Regulus had physically hit him. 

“You,” Sirius hisses once he seems to remember that he can speak. He reaches up his hand and angrily points a finger at Regulus, stretching his arm out to the point that his fingertip is placed in the middle of Regulus’ chest. _“You_ are my brother. My only brother. And I’m worried about you.”

“No need to worry, Siri,” Regulus says then, less harshly, but he still isn’t listening. 

He’s got this under control. And why can’t Sirius ever trust Regulus to be able to handle himself? 

“Unless anything drastically changes, then I’m fine. I’ve got it handled, brother,” he goes on while Sirius struggles to find words, and then he pats him on the upper arm — pushing it down a bit and thus removing his finger — before whirling around, escaping to the Slytherin common room. 

Because it’s too painful, honestly. He doesn’t want to face Sirius nor does he want to feel his magic reaching for his. It’s too raw, and it’s not something that’s convenient now. Neither of their friends nor their parents approve. 

He really does want them to be like they were, but it’s not possible right now. 

“Regulus!” Sirius shouts and Regulus dreads the footfalls that hammers against the stone floor, heading his direction. Seconds later, someone roughly grabs his shoulders, spinning him around. “Wait.”

Regulus lifts his eyebrows, looking expectantly at Sirius.

“Is there anything… anything I can do? I-I mean I can tell that you’re mad at me and I’m sorry, I know I’ve been busy with my friends and then I come and complain but I just-”

“Can you keep the peace?” Regulus questions, interrupting. Sirius isn’t always mindful of his words, not often straight to the point. Regulus likes to save time and chooses his words with more care, getting the point across as swiftly as possible. 

And this request isn’t exactly related to their lives at Hogwarts, but it’s what comes to mind. It’s what matters the most really. Disagreeing friends and Quidditch battles isn’t the most important. Family is, and Regulus fears what’ll happen if this goes on for much longer. He is sincerely scared that his parents’ patience is running out when it comes to Sirius. 

“What?” Sirius blinks, leaning back a bit.

“At home,” Regulus clarifies, wondering how much of his thoughts he should spill to the person that was his world, and isn’t really anymore. At least not all of it. “I try to do well, to keep them off your back, but I can’t do it all by myself. It’s not gonna change unless you help me.”

Sirius is quiet for a moment and seems to contemplate what Regulus is saying. That he tries to be the good son, so that Walburga and Orion are distracted from Sirius. It’s one of the nicest things Regulus can do for Sirius, at this point. That even though he doesn’t stand up to them like Sirius wants, he is in fact _still_ on Sirius’ side. 

“I’ll try,” Sirius says at last and Regulus is a little disappointed but at least he sounds sincere. 

* * *

It takes one and a half weeks and then Sirius is running away. Or getting himself thrown out almost. It’s a fine line in between there. 

It happens too fast for Regulus. He isn’t sure when the breaking point came, when it wasn't just a normal fight anymore, but the last one. And he doesn’t breathe when Sirius hugs him tightly, packed trunk in his hand, explaining that he has to escape if he wants to live. When Sirius asks him to come with. 

He says that he can’t but doesn’t have enough oxygen in his lungs to explain why. That it’ll all end in ash and smoke if they both go. Someone needs to stay. 

Sirius looks absolutely crushed but nods once. Regulus doesn’t know how he keeps it together. A single tear rolls over the angry bruise he’s received during the evening, but that’s it. 

Regulus, on the other hand, sobs pathetically as he watches Sirius leave, hopping on the Knight Bus, from his spot by Sirius’ bedroom window. Watches, as his first and best friend disappears into the cloudy, chilly night. Too foggy to see the stars. It must mean something, must be a metaphor. If Regulus wasn’t so tired and so bloody devastated, then he might find it enthralling. If he was younger and more innocent and not considered an only child, he would’ve told Sirius about it. 

Fuck, it’s going to be hard to remember and learn that Sirius is not just one room away, just behind the wall if Regulus needs him. 

With this, _he’s_ the heir. The title he’s been jealous of but never really wished to have since he thought it’d mean that Sirius would have died. 

He is entirely unprepared. They only taught this stuff to Sirius, even though he has noticed that his father has slipped in small lessons here and there ever since Sirius really started acting up. It’s just not the same. 

On top of it all, he feels like shit. Like someone took his insides and whirled them around. Like Sirius took his heart with him when he left. He feels hollow and wrong and nauseous and like he’ll never get peace of mind again. 

He doesn’t sleep as much as an hour that night and neither does Sirius.

Sirius is in pain. An uncomfortable, cold nagging, a pulling at his core. It started as soon as he got onto that bus and got worse the farther away it took him from Regulus. He felt that Regulus was devastated too and he can feel that he isn’t sleeping either. 

He feels sick. As if he’s been hit with an influenza virus. Aching chest and muscles. Tiredness. Headache. His magic doesn’t like one bit being away from Regulus’.

He can’t even cast a patronus. He never gets to see that majestic lion that it is; not for Gryffindor, but for Regulus. To match, Regulus’ is a dog, for Sirius. 

And he can’t help but to think that it’s morbid, that he can’t conjure the lion that represents his brother. 

At the warm and cosy Potter mansion, James is worried sick, fuzzing over Sirius, who can’t seem to stop shaking, getting his mother to check him over ever so often. 

Sirius doesn’t care much, he is more so worried about Regulus. He knows his brother is feeling the same way, and the difference is that he’s back there, stuck with _them_. He chokes up at just the thought of it and closes his burning eyes, trying to remain collected. 

And suddenly Regulus is _so_ scared, and that’s when Sirius jumps out of his bed, despite himself, despite his bad health, because he _needs_ to get back there.

James stops him though.

“Get out of my way!” Sirius yells, losing control over himself as he tries to push past James. 

“No, not until you tell me what you’re up to! What the hell Sirius, you should be lying down!” James argues, staring back at him. Although he would never admit, the sort of _unhinged_ glimpse in his best friend’s eyes is quite scary. 

“I need to get back there!” Sirius hisses, as he tries to round James once again, but James — taller and also not sick — stops him. “Get away from me!”

“Fuck, no!” James roars. “They’ll _kill you,_ Sirius! I won’t let you!”

“But Reggie-”

“You’re no use to Regulus dead, you idiot!” James argues, his face red. Sirius can’t see himself but he imagines himself deathly pale, sweat glistening on his forehead. 

“Fuck you!” Sirius yells and shoves him as harshly as he manages. 

James barely steps backwards. 

And that’s about all Sirius has time for before the suffocating fear disappears and is replaced with deep sadness. Sirius’ breath hitches, his heart drumming angrily against his chest that burns. 

James doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s almost time to get back to Hogwarts again. You can talk to him there, it’s better than going straight back to their claws,” James goes on and Sirius isn’t really listening anymore.

Instead he blinks against the tears that’s quickly filling his eyes. This James notices and his best friend closes the distance in a heartbeat, his hands reaching out to Sirius.

“Hey,” he says gently, like Sirius is just a scared kid, younger than himself, _which isn’t true because Sirius is older,_ “hey. It’s alright. I’m sorry.”

Sirius just shakes his head into James’ shoulder. He’s exhausted, but his limbs are itching, his guilty conscience squirming. 

He’s worried. So, so worried.

The spring term can’t come fast enough.

* * *

“Reggie!” Sirius calls, in a voice that means business as soon as he sees his brother in the corridor. He sees him tensing up, and for a moment Sirius expects him to escape but he does slowly turn around. 

He doesn’t say anything more but nods in the direction of the classroom beside him, knowing that it’s empty. He checked before he began waiting for Regulus; having memorised parts of his schedule, he knew that he’d pass through here any minute. 

Regulus looks around himself, nodding once at his friends who eye Sirius sceptically, before heading towards Sirius, clutching the books close to his chest. 

Sirius glares at the Slytherins that linger until Sirius has closed the door behind Regulus and himself.

Then he locks the door and turns around to face Regulus, finally. He’s had a lump in his stomach ever since Christmas and he can’t tell if it’s because of himself or Regulus. 

Regulus doesn’t look very well. He looks sort of sick, even paler than normal and the bags under his eyes purple against his skin. It doesn’t help with the way his back is hunched now that the others aren’t looking, nor the way his mouth is pressed into a thin line.

The sunlight forces its way through the windows, bathing Regulus in golden light. It makes the dust in the air look like sparkles and it’s all unsettlingly beautiful for the conversation that Sirius dreads.

At least his magic is a little happier, now that Regulus is in front of him again. At last, as it should be. 

Even James, Remus and Peter have been telling him to see Regulus — since he hasn't been himself — as if he wasn’t already planning on it. 

Sirius opens his mouth, not knowing where to begin but Regulus is faster. 

“You need to stay away from me,” he says, his voice more steady than Sirius expected, by the way he looks. 

“What?” Sirius blurts, shifting on his feet. That’s exactly the opposite to what he had been planning.

Now that they aren’t living together anymore, he was planning to try a heck of a lot harder to spend time with Regulus at school instead.

“You’re angry about me living with James now,” Sirius says, piecing it together.

Except he doesn’t, he can tell before Regulus even has time to say anything; he can see it by the haunted look that appears in his eyes, one that gives Sirius chills and twists his stomach. 

“I was,” Regulus admits before shaking his head, once. _“I am_ angry. But that’s not it.”

And before Sirius has time to register, to dread what’s about to come as soon as Regulus grabs the fabric of his robe, he’s confronted by a horrible, Dark Mark on his brother’s pale and previously smooth skin. 

The world immediately starts spinning, violently. Sirius grabs the closest table to keep himself upright as he stares. 

He doesn’t know how long he stares at it before Regulus breaks the silence.

“Sirius?”

And anger flares within him suddenly and Sirius welcomes it instead of trying to control it, as he should be. Like their father has been trying to teach him for _years_ , like neither he or their mother ever learned. It’s just the easiest feeling to feel, besides happiness and all the other, good ones. 

“I’m gone for a week and you take the Dark Mark?” he questions loudly, even though he knows that it isn’t as simple as that.

“I didn’t want it,” Regulus hisses, and instinctively steps closer, in the heat of the moment. “And quiet down, Siri.”

“What do you mean you didn’t want it?” Sirius asks, horrified, and even louder than before. His voice goes lighter than it’s been since he was thirteen. “Did they _force you?”_

“Sirius-”

“Did they fucking force you?” he asks again, stepping closer too, darkness twisting his insides, clouding his mind. 

“Yeah. They did,” Regulus replies, suddenly more energetic too. The answer makes Sirius want to blow something up. His wand is already ready, shooting flares with the way he grips it so tightly that his knuckles whiten. “What are you going to do with that piece of information, Siri? There’s nothing to do, it doesn’t matter!”

Sirius wants to cry. He almost cries; his nose burns and his eyes sting but he blinks it away. He loosens his grip on his wand and it stops shooting flares. 

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck! This will kill you! Don’t they know?” he asks, feeling frozen to his spot. His face feels frozen too as he stares at Regulus, eyes wide, trying to process what this all means. 

“It’s fine, Siri,” Regulus says because he’s always been the more collected, rational one. One of them needs to remain calm. “It’s alright.”

“NO it’s not!” Sirius shouts and tears are coming out of his eyes now, he can’t stop them. His face is shifting from cold to burning hot. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Regulus echoes more quietly, stepping even closer, shaking his head forcefully. “It was my choice. I put myself here.”

“But they forced you,” Sirius sobs. _“Why_ would they force you?”

“Because they only have me left,” Regulus replies as if it’s obvious. As if remarking that it’s beautiful weather outside, voicing a thought in passing. 

“That doesn’t mean that you need to promise your son to a mad wizard!” Sirius argues in disbelief. He wants to fling open the window and scream — high-pitched and raggedly — until he can't anymore, until his throat is raw and burning, until he runs out of energy. 

“But it does,” Regulus says, before taking a deep, trembling breath. “You left. They don’t have any more sons than us two. Meaning, they can’t let me leave too. So how do you keep your son away from any light wizards? Give him this.”

Regulus gestures at the mark and the world spins once more for Sirius. If he doesn’t look at it, it feels less like it’s actually there but now his eyes are forced to dart to the ugly branding. 

“And besides, you running away, the promised heir siding with a light family, is an embarrassment. You need to understand how bad it looks for us. Giving me this is a way to display power,” Regulus explains objectively and Sirius desperately wants to shake him, wants to snap him out of it.

It’s a hard choice but it would be marginally better if he was crying or yelling, like Sirius.

“How can you be like… like _this?"_ he asks and vaguely gestures at Regulus. 

Regulus understands anyway, but he doesn’t have anything to say about it. He just shrugs, looking away. 

Sirius steps closer. All of this is concerning, to say the least, but the way Regulus _just shrugs_ is amongst the most concerning of it all.

“Aren’t you angry?” Sirius questions, wiping away some tears.

“Not anymore. I’m too tired,” Regulus admits and ice pools in Sirius’ stomach.

“Fucking hell!” he blurts before he can stop himself and goes around the room, kicking things. He hopes that his foot will start to hurt more than his heart but he knows it won’t happen. “You need to be angry!”

“No,” Regulus shakes his head and finally his grey eyes are glimmering, if only slightly. “I need to stay away from you. You need to stay away from me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Sirius says bluntly, stopping in his tracks, looking at Regulus with red-rimmed eyes, glistening tear-tracks on his cheeks. 

“You just have to, somehow,” Regulus says slowly and he sort of sounds like their father. Demanding. That glimmer in his eyes disappears and suddenly he looks like the collected Black Heir that he is going to have to become. “Make it work.”

Sirius furiously shakes his head. He selfishly wants to go back an hour, to when he didn't know all about this. Before he found out that his brother is most likely not going to survive for long after Hogwarts. At least not if the raging war continues to pick up speed like it’s doing now.

“Especially if you want to join that Order of Dumbledore’s,” Regulus goes on when Sirius says nothing. 

“What if we meet in battle?” Sirius says as soon as the thought pops up in his head, his tone horrified. “I can’t fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight you either. I’ll rather die myself,” Regulus says bluntly and Sirius squirms.

That only makes him more sad. He wonders how he’s still standing. An urge to lie down on the floor and curl in on himself, hits him in the face. It’s tempting, but he locks his knees to stay upright.

“But that’s why you need to stay away from now on,” Regulus keeps going. “They’ll come for you, otherwise.”

Sirius doesn’t know who _they_ are. Other Slytherins? Their family? The Death Eaters? Or maybe it doesn’t matter because the lines between these groups of people are very much unclear.

“I can’t, Reggie,” Sirius protests, closing the distance between them quickly, grabbing Regulus’ shoulders. The dust in the sunlight swirls with his movements. His brother sways underneath his hands. “I’m sorry I fucked up, I was selfish and I didn’t listen, but it’ll be different. Please. Let’s just be brothers a little while longer? We’re still in school. Surely they’re not gonna have you do their bidding while still at school?”

“It’s too late, Sirius,” Regulus says sadly and with that Sirius changes his grip, and wraps Regulus tightly in his arms instead. 

He sobs into Regulus' shoulder, his tears seeping into the Slytherin jumper, and Regulus stands quiet, feeling dreadfully numb to it all. 

Regulus thinks, _knows_ , that this is the only place that he’ll ever feel safe. In Sirius’ arms. In another life, maybe they’d fight on the same side and if Regulus died in the war, then he'd die here, in Sirius’ embrace. Now they’ll be forced apart, instead. 

He glances at the window. He can hear students shouting happily outside, wishing he was there instead. Wishing he could bring himself to mindlessly play in the sunshine still. 

Somehow, it’s like he’s always known. That he’d die first. The thought that he’d have to live without Sirius one day is entirely foreign. Sirius, who’s brighter and stronger and happier and the one everyone put first, the one everyone liked best — Regulus understands because he loves Sirius too — would not die before Regulus, there’s no way. He hasn’t spent a great deal of time pondering about his death, but he always thought Sirius would be there. To hold his hand, maybe. Wrap him up in his arms. 

He doesn’t want to die at the end of the wand of one of Sirius’ friends. He doesn’t want to die alone, kept apart from Sirius. 

But that’s not going to happen anymore and Regulus needs to accept and adapt not live in fantasies that will never be true.

And it’ll be easier to do so if he isn’t distracted by Sirius’ presence.

* * *

Sirius watches Regulus stride through the courtyard, squinting his pale grey eyes in the bright sunlight. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. 

Regulus has gotten so much better at looking like a Black. Like an _heir_.

At first glance, Sirius doesn’t quite recognise him. Of course, he still looks like himself; still has black hair and pale skin and grey eyes. And on top of that, they’re still the spitting image of each other, so even if Sirius hadn’t laid eyes on Regulus for _years_ , he’d still recognise his brother.

But it’s the way he moves, behaves, that feels entirely unfamiliar. 

Well, not entirely. He’s seen it in his relatives before, just never in his twin. 

He has his back straight — Regulus always had awful posture before — and his black, long coat swirls around his feet as he walks with long strides, no longer timid like he used to be, when they were kids. He has a posse of Slytherins trailing behind him, and his chin is turned upwards in a haughty way. His cheekbones have become sharper as well as his jawline, which they have for Sirius as well; it just looks more dramatic on Regulus who’s dressed in all black. 

Sirius briefly thinks that _this_ is how his parents imagined he would walk through Hogwarts. The promised Heir, Sirius Orion Black of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. First born son — by a very small marginal — of Orion and Walburga Black. He’s watching an alternate reality and the stone cold truth at the same time. 

Instead of being in Regulus’ current position, he’s now sitting on the sidelines, dressed in a too-big maroon jumper gifted to him by Mr and Mrs Potter, watching his brother from afar with a sad expression on his face. He never wanted this future, the role, but he feels pathetic nevertheless. 

He knows what Regulus meant by being too tired now. 

It’s been two years now, since that fateful Christmas in fifth year. He’s been angry, at their parents, at Voldemort, at Regulus, at the world they live in where kids have to sign their death warrant at 16. But he’s too tired to be angry these days. It didn’t help, so now he’s just sad. 

It’s just four months until they graduate. He has four months left, of seeing Regulus every day, even if it’s only from a distance. Each day, it gets a little warmer and he hates it. He despises the way the birds chirp in the trees, the way the snow is slowly retreating from the mountain tops around them. It reminded that his days are counted, and with that he means his days at Hogwarts. What comes after, he isn’t looking forward to at all. It’ll just be war and fear and worry and despair. It’ll be longing for Regulus and concern for his friends. 

He wishes he could stay right here. It isn’t perfect — in a perfect world he’d have James, Remus, Peter _and_ Regulus at his side — but it’s safe. No one will hurt them in here, not like they can out there, and in here, he can keep an eye on his brother even if he refuses to talk to him. 

He’ll miss it terribly. 

He thinks a lot about it, Regulus that is. Specifically, the way he said that Regulus would die as soon as he found out about the mark. The way Regulus agreed without arguing. He knows it, deep down, to be true. Both of them do. But Sirius can’t wrap his mind about it still; he _can’t_ begin to understand that his brother’s time on the Earth has been severely cut short. 

Maybe the human mind isn’t mind to comprehend such horrible things, magic or not.

He doesn’t feel the urgency to stop this, close the distance between them, like someone who truly knew what it meant would do. He’s just sad. Sad over the fact that it’s not him and Regulus anymore. Regulus seems so untouchable, so far away with the way he confidently walks around the school. Despite the fact that Sirius knows that he’s scared. 

He’s just not allowed to come close. He’s tried. Smiling at him across the classroom, saying hello in the corridors, trying to talk to him when he looks especially bad — Sirius has reasons to believe that his parents aren’t treating him well — but Regulus never acknowledges him. And it bloody hurts. It hurts and it’s wearing on Sirius’ mind and heart like nothing else he’s experienced. It’s suffocating and tiring and just shit. Two years of it. Sirius doesn’t know how he’s still hanging in there. 

And Walburga has surely taught Regulus well because Sirius feels small in comparison even while they are still the same size. If anything, Sirius is broader, building more muscle with his position on the Gryffindor quidditch team than Regulus does with his on the Slytherin team. It’s like that mask he used to wear has finally grown into him; to the point where Sirius doesn’t even know where the mask ends and the real Regulus begins. If there even is any difference anymore. He can’t tell for sure. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off the retrieving form of his brother, his first best friend, the person who meant the absolute most for so many years, until he’s distracted by a gentle hand on shoulder. Sirius looks up at the person who’s come to stand next to where he’s sitting, and is met with the sight of James. His second best friend.

James gives Sirius’ shoulder a squeeze and Sirius flashes him a small smile that doesn’t look genuine at all; he knows because he isn’t and he’s never been good at hiding his true feelings like Regulus. In fact, his eyes have started to burn with tears again, and he carefully wipes them away just as they leave the corners of his eyes, so that they never even have the chance to roll down his cheeks and leave traces. 

James, who Regulus thinks Sirius sees as his new brother. Regulus probably isn’t that worried about how Sirius feels, knowing he has James to support him. And he isn’t angry at James, it’s the opposite in fact, he’s very grateful. It just isn’t the same. 

“Come on,” James says gently, flashing a smile that isn’t entirely real either. “Let’s go inside to the common room instead.”

* * *

It’s two days until graduation and Sirius is dreading it so much he’s sure that the entirety of the Gryffindor house has noticed by now. 

Remus, James and Peter try their hardest to keep his spirits up though, bless them. He’s been oddly emotional lately and barely succeeds in keeping the tremble off his voice when talking to them as they start to orchestrate one last prank on the Slytherins, just to get him in a better mood.

Which really shows how despicable he is, that annoying other people is the way to get him to feel better. Sirius even scoffs at himself at the unpleasant realisation and Remus gives him a curious look, one lifted eyebrow and a glimpse in his honey coloured eyes. Sirius blushes in return, which he often does when he meets Remus’ gaze these days. 

It’s not a huge thing; luckily for the Slytherins. There’s no time and it isn’t that important really. Just tradition. 

As James said it; they can’t have it the way it is now. The way they didn’t even realise that their last prank was their _last prank._ No, it needs to be re-done, and more ceremonial this time, even if it’s just a small ordeal. 

Less than an hour after the idea was sparked, they’re heading down the corridors in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons. They try to fit underneath the invisibility cloak but it’s hard, even when Peter shifts from into the rat. They’re just far too tall these days. 

Luckily there are no professors out and Sirius suspects that they’re turning a blind eye to the shenanigans the last years get up to, these last days. He can’t even imagine McGonagall — or Minnie like they refer to her as, when she doesn’t hear — giving them detention so close to graduation, even if it’s way past curfew.

He was a little excited, but the closer he gets to the dungeons the more he thinks of his brother and the sadder he gets. He does his best to shove the thoughts away though, and plasters on a grin for good measure, even if his friends can’t see it, when they’re all under the cloak. 

Just as they turn the corner to the Slytherin hallway, the port to the dungeons opens unexpectedly and they all freeze; James, who’s walking first halts immediately, which causes a domino effect that ends in Remus bumping into Sirius’ back. He’s vaguely aware of Remus cursing under his breath just above Sirius’ ear, because he’s too distracted. Which in itself is impressive because in any other situation Sirius, shamefully but probably, would’ve gotten chills. 

It’s just that loud music is pouring out of the doorway as a Slytherin student makes his way out of it, and as soon as it closes behind him, it goes quiet like the dead of the night again. 

“The bastards are having a party,” James hisses, betrayal in his tone. It doesn’t matter very much in the moment that it’s held by Slytherins; James just loves partying so much he would’ve done a lot to be there. 

Peter squeals on his shoulder in agreement. 

“Did you see the Ravenclaw jumper?” Remus questions quietly, and Sirius can practically _hear_ the way he’s lifting an eyebrow like he often does. “There’s other people there as well.”

“Yeah,” James huffs irritably. “I bet everyone’s there except the Gryffindors.”

“Shut it,” Sirius interrupts James’ sulking, eyes trained on the Slytherin student heading their way, soon close enough to hear even a whispered conversation. 

And even if it’s way too dark to see much else than a silhouette, Sirius just _knows_ , even before the boy gets close enough to the windows that the light of the moon — not full yet, thank Merlin — illuminates his face somewhat and it’s clear that it’s Sirius’ doppelgänger waltzing through the corridor.

Because waltzing is a far better verb than walking, if Sirius was to explain Regulus’ method of moving forward. 

He clutches an entire bottle of firewhiskey in his hand and he sways as he puts on foot unsteadily in front of the other. 

“Shit,” James whispers once Regulus has passed them. He knows. They all do. 

The prank is off. Or at least Sirius isn’t joining anymore, far too distracted by the sight of his brother, who’s looking really off-balanced as he continues down the corridor, dragging his feet with him. 

Sirius’ breath hitches once he realises that it’s Regulus and his friends know at once that the prank is called off. Or at least Sirius isn’t joining, far too distracted. 

He almost stumbles several times, absolutely pissed and Sirius gapes. 

For some reason he hasn't been able to imagine Regulus _drinking_. Sirius does, so it’s not entirely foreign, but they haven’t stayed on good terms long enough for him to know what partying habits Regulus has developed as an older teen, if he even has any.

Although clearly he does, which comes as a surprise, admittedly. Sirius just thought he was way too obedient to completely let go like this. The Regulus he knew when younger would’ve been way too much of a control freak, way too worried about what he’d do when he lost that precious control. 

Regulus suddenly stops, looking over his shoulder. Sirius, Remus, James and even Peter all hold their breath. He stops, and looks at them as if he can see past the cloak which they know he can’t, but it’s adrenaline-inducing still. Then he looks back forward and that when he finally takes that stumble Sirius has been waiting for. 

Only that it’s in the direction of the windows and Sirius can’t stop himself — and neither James and Remus have a chance to protest — and springs into action, stepping out from underneath the cloak. 

“Reg! Be careful!” he says, jogging towards his brother. Regulus however, catches himself, stilling at Sirius’ shout before he crosses one foot in front of the other and slowly spins around. It looks sort of gracious and he almost looks like he’s dancing for a second.

“Oh,” he says quietly, flashing Sirius a crooked grin that Sirius doesn’t like, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lamely in response, looking Regulus over. 

“Where’d you come from anyways? Could’ve sworn…” Regulus’ words fade into nothing as he obscurity gestures to the hallway behind Sirius.

“Came from around the corner,” Sirius replies although it’s useless. Regulus probably knows extremely well that there are no Gryffindors at the party, and the only thing that corridor leads to is the dungeons.

Regulus squints his eyes at Sirius but then seems to let it slide, which makes Sirius wonder if he should go and get Madame Pomfrey at this moment. Sirius doesn’t want to think about how drunk his normally brilliant brother must be to _not_ put it together. 

“Sure you should drink that much?” he questions, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening when Regulus awkwardly leans against the wall to keep himself upright.

“Mind your own business,” Regulus replies, smiling again. He looks a little crazy. It reminds Sirius vaguely of their dear cousin Bellatrix, only Regulus’ smile doesn’t have an ounce of malice in it. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t tell me what to do? You promised.”

Sirius does. They had been seven and truly beginning to understand what it meant, that Sirius was the heir and Regulus was the spare. Regulus had asked if Sirius would tell him what to do, later, when they were older. Sirius asked whether Regulus would want him to, and Regulus shook his head quickly. He would much rather make up his own mind, and Sirius nodded, telling him that he wouldn’t, then. 

“I do,” Sirius replies, chewing his lip, the memory twisting his insides. “Are you sure you’re fine though?”

“I think it’s quite obvious that ’m not,” Regulus scoffs, before taking a large gulp of the whiskey which almost makes _Sirius_ hiss, just imagining the burn in Regulus’ mouth and throat.

Sirius’ chest squeezes because to him it hadn’t been _that_ obvious — at least not since the day they talked about the mark — and who else would notice, if not him? Regulus is too good at pretending like everything is fine and it’s bloody terrifying. 

“I want to help, Reggie,” Sirius says, carefully stepping closer. If he does so calmly, then maybe Regulus won’t even notice. 

“Nothin’ to do, my friend. _Brother,”_ Regulus replies, shrugging. “Nothing to do but to await death, really.”

“Reg, _stop it,”_ Sirius protests, horrified. He wants to press his hands to his ears and not hear any of it. Regulus is drunk and way too honest and this is never going to end well. “When did you become so morbid?”

“Since the beginnin’ I think,” Regulus ponders, swaying some more. Sirius resists the urge to step forward and steady him; he already feels like a darn hippogriff with the way he hovers over his brother. Like an overly worried parent. Despite the fact that the worry is very much granted at this moment in time. “It’s what happens when you’re literally taught to be a spare.”

“Reg, I’m sorry,” Sirius blurts and he doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words better than that. It’s what he feels but it still isn’t enough. “I’m so sorry, but you should know that I tried my very best to show you that you weren’t-”

“Yeah, I know,” Regulus hums softly, picking a bit at the etiquette of the bottle. “But all the others-” he stops when his voice becomes too choked up and clears his throat. “‘M just the second in line. They’ve never been interested in me... I-I could never be as good as you were, no matter how hard I try. At least I have the mark, so that I’m of some use. It’ll look good for a while, until I die, which I hope comes soon because I don’t wanna do this and I can’t take it for much longer.”

_“Reggie,”_ Sirius chokes, because he still doesn’t know what to say. And everything gets worse when Regulus' eyebrows draw together and his lips start to wobble and tears escape his eyes. 

Sirius almost panics, he hasn’t seen Regulus cry since they were 12, probably. 

“I wish I would’ve let the _bloody_ hat put me in Ravenclaw. Or with the fucking _Hufflepuffs_ , even that would’ve been better,” he laughs bitterly with tears rolling down in his cheeks before taking another sip of the firewhiskey. 

Sirius steps forward. “The hat wanted to put you in Hufflepuff?” he asks, in awe. 

This is news to him. And for some reason he wishes that he knew this, earlier. Not that it should or would have changed anything. But it’s an important fact about his brother and it says a lot about his persona. 

“Yeah,” Regulus huffs, still snickering although none of this is funny. Although Sirius isn’t very surprised, because while not many people knew this besides him, Regulus has always had a bad habit of wanting to laugh when he really shouldn’t. “I’m too stupidly loyal.”

“You are,” Sirius utters, nodding furiously. That he can stand by. “Fuck, Reg.”

He wonders where they would’ve been if Regulus wasn’t so loyal to their parents and their extended family. Or even to Sirius. Maybe Regulus wouldn’t have that horrible mark on his arm, reminding them both of his impending doom. 

He moves a bit closer again and Regulus even inches forward, until he freezes suddenly, staring at something over Sirius’ shoulder. Cool dread pools in Sirius’ stomach as he looks behind him and sees James’ shoe. 

Shit.

Regulus looks back at Sirius, horrified and teary-eyed and Sirius wants to scream and then hug Regulus as tightly as he can without suffocating him and protect him against everything because Regulus can’t die and he can’t feel like this. Sirius is _finally_ feeling that icy urgency but now Regulus is looking at Sirius like he’s been betrayed, burned, and then he storms off before Sirius can say anything, as fast as he can move, angrily wiping at his eyes and Sirius must’ve started to sink to the floor because suddenly Remus is there, holding him up. 

All the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to voice gets stuck in his throat as he watches Regulus walk past his friends, back towards the Slytherin common room. The port opens again; Sirius can hear by the way loud music fills the still hallways again until it stops just as quickly as it came and it’s unsettlingly quiet again. 

* * *

After Hogwarts, Sirius reaches out to Regulus often, because he’s nothing if he isn’t stubborn. 

He doesn’t get any answers though.

Still, he checks, every day, just in case. 

As soon as Remus enters their flat with a bunch of letters in his hand — they don’t have them delivered directly to their flat as a safety measure — Sirius shoots up from his spot on the couch and takes them from Remus’ hand before the taller man can say anything. He flips through them, quickly and haphazardly, but none of them look like they could be from Regulus, to his great disappointment. Then he goes back to the couch without saying anything and stares out into nothing. It’s become a routine now, almost, since they do this every week, every month. 

He’s not been the same as he was, once, since Regulus was forced to join the Death Eaters, it’s clear to Remus, although he’ll never quite understand as an only child. The closest thing he got to a sibling is the longing for one. That’s it. He didn’t even have a pet growing up. 

And supposedly twins are different. 

Well, they clearly are, taking just one look at Sirius. He’s never heard of it elsewhere, but Sirius and Regulus are connected somehow, it’s obvious. To the point that Remus sometimes wonders what sad feelings stem from Sirius and which come from his counterpart. Maybe they’re both sad and it’s just enhanced, doubled.

Sirius has a lot of nightmares, in a way he didn’t use to. It’s not uncommon for Remus to wake up to Sirius crying in his sleep. Remus sits with him, telling him that if he wants to talk about it, he’ll be here to listen. 

Sirius doesn’t, the first eleven times he asks. The twelfth though — or something like that, Remus doesn’t necessarily keep count — he does and tells him that it’s the night outside the Slytherin dungeons, right before graduation, that he dreams of the most. 

What Regulus said that night, when Sirius had confronted him. 

Remus knows exactly what he’s talking about because even he remembers the sentence, word by word. Words that have to be some of the worst you can hear from a person you love. He understands why Sirius has nightmares about it. 

_ ‘It’ll look good for a while, until I die, which I hope comes soon because I don’t wanna do this and I can’t take it for much longer.’ _

There’s another fateful night he dreams about as well, something about Regulus pretending to be Sirius, but Sirius says he’ll leave it to another night.

“It’s not healthy to hear so many horrible things in one sitting,” he tells Remus with this wistful look in his eye that makes him look like one of those WW2 veterans in the village back home, in Wales. 

The look of someone that’s been through much more than one should, at their age. 

Remus chokes up and nods, his throat too tight to say anything. But he rubs Sirius’ back and Sirius nods back at him. 

Then he lies back down and closes his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. Remus stays sitting though, thoughts spinning in his head. He knows Sirius is blaming himself, but he can see it from Regulus’ perspective, and to him it’s clear as day that Regulus does this to protect his brother. 

“He does it to protect you,” he whispers, accidentally spilling his thoughts in the darkness. 

Silence follows and Remus thinks Sirius has finally succumbed to sleep, so he’s about to lie down himself, just when he hears shuffling coming from Sirius’ side. 

“Wish he didn’t,” Sirius whispers back, so quiet that Remus probably wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t a werewolf. “It’s unfair.”

“How so?” Remus murmurs in return, his brows furrowed; something Sirius, of course, can’t see.

“I want to protect him too,” Sirius replies and his voice is hollow. “We were supposed to protect each other. Or I, mostly, since I’m older.”

“By minutes Sirius.” It slips out of his mouth before he even registers the thought.

“Still,” Sirius mutters brokenly. “He wants to protect me, which I suppose he does but he’s also leaving me in absolute misery. It’s hell Remus, not knowing where he is. My magic still searches for his, you know?”

Remus doesn’t, because Sirius hasn’t told him. Him, or anyone else for that matter. He can sort of imagine though; he’d freak the fuck out if Prongs suddenly went M. I. A.for example. 

“He loves you, so much, that’s why,” Remus says after a moment of total and complete silence, the sort of quietness that only forms in small and dark rooms, behind a closed door.

He doesn’t know exactly why he’s arguing for Regulus’ sake. They’ve never really been friends, and he doesn’t know the other man that well outside of Sirius’ stories. It just feels like the right thing to do. Besides, he’s always been that way, speaking for those who are not there to defend themselves, something Sirius knows very well. Which is why he suspects that Sirius uses Remus to hear Regulus’ perspective, now when he can’t talk to Regulus himself.

“I love him too, so, so, so much,” Sirius whispers brokenly. “And I’m scared that he doesn’t know that.” 

“I think he does.” Remus reaches out and feels for Sirius’ hand through the dark. He finds it and squeezes it tightly. “I think he does, Pads.”

* * *

It takes a couple of more weeks and then Remus is confronted with the first sign of life from Regulus in the almost four months it has been since graduation. 

It seems an awfully much longer time than that. Remus feels like he’s aged a year per month.

The sign of life is in the form of Regulus himself, suddenly standing before Remus in an alleyway in a small town in Ireland, while Remus is out on a mission commissioned by Dumbledore. 

“Regulus?” Remus breaks the silence, tone incredulous. He hadn’t expected to see the mirrored version of Sirius here, of all places. 

Although it’s a good clue that the artefact Dumbledore sent him to collect is one of interest, since a Death Eater also is out and about, alarmingly close to its location. 

Seeing Regulus is like seeing a mythical creature, as a muggle, he supposes. Or seeing a ghost, although he knows those exist too. 

Regulus doesn’t seem to have expected to see Remus here either. After a few moments’ staring — during which Remus shamefully clutches his wand because he doesn’t know what’s running through Regulus’ mind — he nods slowly.

A strong gust of wind pushes through the deserted, slim alleyway, forcing their hair — jet black and light brown — up and into a mess. The signs of the pubs and small stores around the creak and squeal as they swing forcefully back and forth in the aggressive wind.

Remus pulls his jacket tighter around himself, hand still clutching his wand in his pocket. Regulus eyes his hand, understanding what’s going on but seemingly deems Remus not enough of a threat to be worried since he doesn’t pull out his own wand. 

He still looks hauntingly like Sirius — they are _so_ alike that Remus sometimes still gets chills — but they are currently less so than they have been ever before.

Regulus has a new scar on his face, one that runs over his eyebrow and splits it into two. His cheeks have gone skinnier as have the rest of him. His high cheekbones look sharp, too sharp these days. They used to be elegant, but now they make his face look too much like a skull. On top of that, he’s paler than Remus has ever seen either Sirius or Regulus before. Which is an achievement considering how pale they are to begin with. 

Remus’ heart protests violently. And not because Regulus looks like his boyfriend, looks like a very ill Sirius; it aches for _Regulus_. Just Regulus. 

This is Sirius' first friend. The boy who took care of Sirius for a long time, even though Sirius and Regulus himself don’t always believe that he did. The young man, who’s reason for being in the situation is that he’d rather be here himself than to have Sirius do it. He looks like he’s been to hell and back, for him.

Someone Remus has always admired, from afar. Someone Remus thinks he’d get on well with, if Regulus had let him get close. 

Remus has during moments in the past deemed Regulus’ moral compass as a bit twisted, but he doesn’t doubt that Regulus has a good heart, deep down. He’s just ruined by his own family.

At least Sirius got away and Remus is _extremely_ happy about that. But in this moment, Remus feels like he would’ve moved mountains to have them both get away. 

The war has been hard on Regulus, even harder than it’s been on his counterpart. 

It makes Remus suffocatingly sad to see. His throat burns and there's a lump in his stomach when he sees Regulus straighten up even though it pains him, blinking as if his sight is tired and blurry.

“Lupin,” he says, voice a bit hoarse. It’s light though and his arched eyebrows travel up his forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Remus replies and tries a small smile. It feels quite nostalgic even, to be called _‘Lupin’_ by Regulus, but the war is too heavy on his shoulders these days; he can’t manage a gentle smile anymore. 

Regulus nods once. He’d been witty, back in the days, and would probably have some comment just clever enough ready as a reply. Now he just looks exhausted, and he lets it go. “How’s Sirius?”

Somehow it’s weird to hear Regulus say _‘Sirius’._ He’s only ever heard the dark-haired young man refer to his mirror with _‘Siri’_. But Remus guesses that he probably only does that when Sirius is present. 

“Tired, but alive,” Remus says truthfully, because that’s what Regulus expects. “Somewhat healthy. Worried about you.”

Regulus nods again, directing his stormy grey eyes downwards. The wind grabs his dark hair again, twirling it around his face. It’s longer now than Remus has ever seen it before, and that is one argument for Sirius and Regulus looking more alike now than before, but it’s also the only. 

“He misses you a lot you know,” Remus says, taking the opportunity. He’ll regret it if he doesn’t, for his own and Sirius’ sake. “I don’t think he has felt like himself ever since… you know.”

Regulus doesn’t say anything. His lips are pressed into a thin, white line. He manages to look even more ill than before, which isn’t the goal but perhaps a necessary side effect. 

“Why don’t you come with me and say hello to him?” Remus questions boldly, forcing his voice into a levelled tone. He wants to appear casual, to make it seem like reuniting with Sirius is not such a hard task. 

Which it really doesn’t have to be, but he has a feeling that Regulus sees it that way. 

“It isn’t safe,” Regulus replies in a short, controlled tone and he’s right.

“None of this is safe,” Regulus counters, however, because that’s true too. 

“Why make the odds worse, then?” Regulus states then because he’s not stupid. One of Slytherin’s most valuable traits is self-preservation after all, even if Regulus doesn’t, at first glance, seem to have much of that. 

“Because he loves you,” Remus answers without hesitation, daring to step closer. He gets a strong feeling that it’s now or never. “And you love him. And any day could be the last for either of us, to be quite frank.”

Regulus looks up and straight at him for a long while. Remus feels like his grey eyes are piercing his soul. He does his best to not squirm and shift on his feet, but stands still, feet a little broader than shoulder-width apart, hands back in the pockets of his corduroy jacket. And waits, patiently. 

“Please keep him safe?” Regulus says after a moment that felt like ten seconds and five minutes at the same time. 

“So you won’t come?” Remus can’t help but to be very disappointed. He feels like he failed, and he doesn’t know how to tell Sirius about this. 

If he even should. Or _can_. 

Regulus shakes his head, his fringe falling down into his eyes again, like it used to do all the time when they were younger. 

Remus sighs, feeling extremely tired. Like all the exhaustion from the worry and the past missions and tragedy just hits him all at once, even if this is just one defeat in a line of many. 

“I will. Try to be safe yourself,” Remus replies, a bit formally, because it’s easier.

“That’s impossible,” Regulus replies pessimistically and the corners of his lips curl upwards for a second, in an unsettling way. 

A couple of seconds drag on. Another gust of wind comes through and Remus, who’s standing in the middle of the alley steps closer to Regulus, who is standing pressed against the stone wall of the building behind him, to shield himself from the cold. Remus hesitates for a second more and then he steps forward and gives Regulus a hug. 

Regulus tenses up at first and Remus almost lets him go immediately, as if he had been burned. But then he relaxes a bit and even wraps one arm half-heartedly around the taller man.

Regulus just seemed like he could really use one. Remus could always use another hug himself.

It’s the first and last hug Remus will ever give Regulus Black.

* * *

Five days later, Remus walks past the windows of their flat like he does several times a day, but this time, he stops and lingers, something in the corner of his eye catching his attention. 

And surely enough, there’s a figure dressed in black standing outside their building, looking up.

At first Remus’ heart seizes in his chest, his entire being going cold. He knows that he should get away from the window, in this instant, but he finds himself unable to move as all the blood drains from his face.

But then he blinks and realises that the figure doesn’t make any attempt at blowing out their window; the man just shields his eyes with his hand and watches him, looking unsure for a second.

And then it _clicks_.

So Remus opens the window, leaning out a bit, feeling the cold autumn air flush into the flat as he does. 

Several stories down, Regulus waves up at him, giving him a crooked smile. He looks very out of place in muggle London, far too elegantly dressed to pass unnoticed. 

Remus holds up a large hand in response, before glancing up and down the street below him. It’spretty much empty except for an elderly muggle man walking his small dog a few houses down. The sun is setting too, the sky turning a purplish grey; the contours and details of things going more fuzzy by the minute.

Still he has to be wary of his use of his wand around here, so he tries to press it down close to the windowsill, the tip of it only just sticking out from underneath his upper body as he leans out farther. Luckily, they have their windows on the same side of the building as the entrance and from here, Remus can unlock the door; for wizards that is. Muggles can pass through as they please, none of them have even the slightest idea that it lives two wizards on the fourth floor that have warded the doors against others of their kind. 

Regulus probably hears the sound — it gives out a vibrating, humming sound as the wards fold away, sort of like _frrrrr_ — because he glances at the door and then up at Remus again, who gestures to Regulus that he can enter. 

He watches Regulus walk towards it, a small bounce to his step that Remus hasn’t seen in _years_ , before he crawls back inside and closes the window carefully. For now, he doesn’t want to alert Sirius — who thankfully is in the shower, it makes things much easier — since he doesn’t know the nature of Regulus’ visit yet. 

He doesn’t have any reason to believe that Regulus has bad intentions — maybe he should, he is a Death Eater after all, but he hasn’t actually done anything bad, to them at least — but he wants to check in first, to be sure. 

Remus opens the door, and waits for Regulus' arrival. He can hear him shuffling in the staircase — the echo is terrible — and his steps sound more tired now in comparison to outside, when no one sees him. 

He does pick up his speed though the farther up he gets and especially so when he comes around the corner and spots Remus, standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Regulus practically jogs up the last set of stairs but he doesn’t manage to quite mask his shortness of breath once he reaches Remus. 

He does however straighten out his back and push his fringe out of his face before shoving his hands into the pockets of his black, heavy robe that looks like it’s eating him up, swallowing him whole.

“Hey,” Remus says.

“Hey,” Regulus echoes.

“Come in,” he murmurs, opening the door wider.

“Are you sure? I mean I get it if you-”

“Come in,” Remus repeats, gesturing inside. “You could’ve already killed me twice by now. I trust you.”

Regulus nods once, a short and small thing and steps past Remus and inside their quite small flat. Remus watches as the other man’s grey eyes travel over his surroundings; the arrangement of pictures on the walls, the posters, the old Gryffindor banner, the small telly, the heaps of books, the two cups of coffee, one empty and the other half drunk and left on the table. 

Remus observes him. He has a tiny smile on his face, and Remus hasn’t seen him look so unbothered in a long while. Five days ago, he seemed ready to pass on, which he thankfully doesn't look like he is now. 

He seems a bit jittery though. With how little Regulus typically shows his feelings, Remus has always found it hard to read his expression, so he can’t surely put his finger on if Regulus is excited or horrendously nervous to meet Sirius again. 

Speaking of Sirius, Remus listens in and hears that the water is still running in the shower, on the other end of the flat. They’re good, for a couple of minutes more, at least.

“How do you know where we live?” Remus questions then, breaking the silence.

Regulus gives him a look that’s knowing, if not borderline mischievous. It’s a bit amusing, almost. 

“It’s fine,” Regulus assures him, although Remus doesn’t feel that much calmer to be honest. He likes to _know_ and not to just be told to not worry about it. Regulus seems to notice this, when he looks the taller man over and explains. “I can feel Sirius’ magic.”

Remus leans back a little. “Still?” 

He’s impressed, to say the least. 

Regulus nods again. “Yes. And I hope it never goes away.”

“Yeah?” Remus prompts, shifting on his feet.

“Yes,” Regulus says again, burrowing his hands deeper into his pockets. “It’s rather inconvenient at times… it _hurts_ sometimes. But I don’t want it to stop either, you know?”

Remus doesn’t, but he nods anyway. “And your _colleagues?”_

“That’s an overly nice way to refer to them,” Regulus remarks, scoffing. “They don’t know anything. I know they’ve tried to find out, several times, and a number of them. But if it’s something I’m good at, it’s occlumency. Not even Bella could get into that part of my mind.”

Remus’ eyebrows travel up his forehead, impressed once more by Regulus’ magic. For not the first time, he wonders if it’s even stronger than Sirius’, even if just marginally, which is quite notable, since Sirius has some of the strongest powers Remus has ever seen.

If Remus didn’t know better, he might’ve thought it was proof that magic runs stronger in pureblood families, that it’s more potent. Of course, he doesn’t believe such rubbish; Regulus and Sirius are just two exceptionally strong wizards. 

“So, is Sirius home?”

Remus realises that he has forgotten to check in on Sirius that last few minutes and realises that the water is not running anymore. 

He curses under his breath and Regulus gives him a worried look, but Remus ignores it for now and stretches his neck to look into the corridor that leads from the kitchen and living room area to the two bedrooms — that now have become a bedroom and a guest room — and the bathroom. He’s standing in front of it, and Regulus just to the side, so when Sirius comes walking down it, he only sees Remus at first. Luckily, he’s wearing a band t-shirt and sweatpants, instead of just a towel like he sometimes does. His long hair is still dripping wet though and he uses the towel to squeeze the water out of it.

“Moons, who are you talking to?” Sirius asks, dark eyebrows knitted above his eyes that fill up with more and more concern with each second that passes without Remus answering him. 

He picks up the speed of his step, lowering the towel and within a second he reaches the end of the hallway and his eyes land immediately on his brother, his mirror. 

Remus watches as his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open; longing, disbelief, relief, guilt, concern, it all passes over his face in milliseconds. 

“Reggie?” he asks, voice small and incredulous. Regulus nods once, looking a little less confident now, and sort of awkward.

Remus can’t help but to feel that it’s a little endearing. 

And then Sirius leaves his spot, tossing the towel to the floor, and throws himself at Regulus, who stumbles backwards, in too bad shape to keep himself upright. Luckily, Sirius catches them with an arm against the wall behind his brother, steadying them both. He hugs him tight for a long while — Regulus lowers his head down and rests his forehead against Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius’ hair leaves droplets on Regulus’ robe — before unraveling his arms and leaning back, grabbing Regulus’ angular face with his hands, lifting it up, looking him over. 

Meanwhile, Remus picks up the wet towel from the floor and walks over to the kitchen table and hangs it over one of the chairs. Then he stays there, lingering in the background and giving them some space. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” Sirius says under his breath, that incredulous smile still on his face.

“Happy to see you too,” Regulus murmurs in reply, smiling a little too. 

Their identical eyes dart over each other’s faces, that are not _identical_ anymore but still pretty darn close. Sirius moves his hand up and traces the scar that splits Regulus’ brow into two with his thumb.

“How’d you get that?” he questions, lifting one of his own eyebrows. 

Regulus smiles crookedly. “You don’t want to know.”

Sirius pales a little. Remus can tell that it, that sentence, means more to them than the average person. It’s quite loosely used, thrown here and there, way too casually. To Sirius and Regulus though, it means that the other person _does not_ and _cannot_ know, which means that it has to be bad, since the two used to tell each other everything, back in the day. 

He ends up nodding, more drops of water falling from his hair. He gives his head a little shake — practiced habit to get his hair away from his face without having to reach up and touch it — and Regulus is showered in small, little drops of now cold water and he scrunches up his nose. 

Sirius grins, huffing. For a moment, everything’s all right.

Then Sirius looks up at the scar again. “Well, it looks sort of badass.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Only you would think that.” 

Then he looks down at Sirius’ arms. There are things there that weren't, the last time Regulus saw Sirius. 

Several tattoos. 

“How’d you get those?” he asks, knowingly echoing Sirius’ question from before. 

“Hard work and lots of muggle cash,” Sirius replies, grinning a bit wider. 

Regulus frowns, his eyes dancing over them. There’s moons and paw prints and some runes and then stars. Stars, in constellations. 

Remus had to be told what they were, but he’s sure that Regulus recognises them instantly. 

It’s confirmed when his eyes go round, open wide.

“That’s-”

“Yeah.”

“In the same spot as-”

_Oh._ Remus hasn’t thought of that before. Shit.

Sirius pales a little. “Yeah… I know. Maybe it was tasteless, I dunno…”

Regulus continues to stare, expression unreadable. 

“It’s a nice spot, well… A common spot for a tattoo and my subconscious, probably, saved it for last,” Sirius confesses, moving his hands from the sides of Regulus’ face, down to his shoulders. “Like, it’s symbolic. I-I mean I wish you could have something like this there, instead of _that_ and I… it’s stupid but it felt like it compensated it all, a bit.”

“I… I’m not angry,” Regulus says and Sirius visibly relaxes a bit, his tense shoulders loosening a bit.

Regulus nods as if to further prove his point and looks up from Sirius’ forearm, to meet his eyes.

He’s clearly shaken; there’s surprise and guilt but also clear that he’s moved. It’s easier to see what he’s feeling now, Remus thinks. It’s like the more time he spends with his brother, the more he shows his emotions, which Remus supposes is a good thing. 

“I’m relieved,” Sirius murmurs in return.

Regulus doesn’t say anything and Sirius moves his hands up to his cheeks again, like he can’t stop himself. 

“You don’t look good,” Sirius goes on then, his eyebrows knitted with worry. His eyes are oddly soft and glossy in a way even Remus rarely sees them. Regulus lets out a shaky breath. It’s been a long while since he saw Sirius look at him like that too. 

They’re standing close, inches apart, speaking lowly. If Remus hadn’t been a werewolf he probably wouldn’t have heard them. He sort of feels like he’s eavesdropping, but he also feels as though he’d disturb them with his rustling if he tried to walk away. So he stands very still, holding his breath as he lingers in the background. 

“We look the same, idiot,” Regulus replies and that’s the Regulus Remus remembers. Maybe the reply isn’t as cunning as it could’ve been but he’s much more alike himself than he’s been in years. 

The corners of Sirius’ mouth curve upwards, despite himself. “I don’t mean it like that, you smart-ass.” 

“I know,” Regulus replies, the playfulness fading from his face.

Sirius’ eyebrows draw together again.

“Are you okay? I mean I know you aren’t… but you look like you could topple over any minute and it’s bloody terrif-”

“I am as good as one could expect,” Regulus interrupts, slipping back into the collected heir-of-House-of-Black tone that Sirius despises. Regulus seems to catch himself. He shakes his head, a minuscule movement, and shifts a tiny bit closer to Sirius. “I’m not about to crumble and die on the spot, Siri. Don’t worry.”

“You sure do look like it,” Sirius comments, his tone thick. “I hate it, Reggie. You’re too skinny, it’s not healthy, and you look exhausted.”

Remus caught Sirius’ hand carefully running over Regulus’ side during the hug, no doubt feeling the ribs that are too protruding.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says without hesitation. 

“Don’t apologise,” Sirius counters, sounding like a mother, almost. Not their though. Warm yet scolding. Reprimanding. “I still want to help you, you know. A-are you sure there’s nothing to do? Because I’ll do _anything-”_

Regulus smiles, small and bittersweet. His eyes look a little glossy too. He looks tempted by Sirius’ offer. Like, if the circumstances were just a tiny bit different, he’d go for it, in a heartbeat. 

Remus can see the hope building on Sirius’ face. He hopes Regulus isn’t about to crush it. 

“Maybe,” Regulus hums. He looks happy just to hear that Sirius still wants to try but there’s a worryingly wistful glimpse in his grey eyes. 

“Please, Reggie,” Sirius presses. “I want you to be safe. There must be something. We could meet in secret, I could talk to Dumbledore, just something.”

Regulus just hums.

“Reg?”

“There’s something I’ve gotta do first. Well, gotta finish… I-I think I’m close to figuring it out.”

“Is it dangerous?” Sirius asks, knowing better than to ask what exactly it is. Remus thinks that Sirius doesn’t really want to hear it, either way.

The look Regulus gives Sirius says it all. At least to Sirius, who nods once, bitterly. 

“Will you please try your best to be safe?”

“I don’t know if I can promise you that,” Regulus says bluntly. 

Sirius lets out a long row of curse words underneath his breath. Meanwhile, Regulus reaches up his pale hands and places them on the back of Sirius’ neck, gently guiding his brother’s head forwards as he bends his own forward too, until their foreheads touch. 

Remus takes this moment to slip away. It’s overdue. 

Regulus takes a deep, trembling breath. Sirius’ eyes flicker to his face, but he stubbornly looks down at their feet; Sirius’ in just a pair of tennis socks and Regulus’ in his usually but not currently shined dress shoes. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says and he doesn’t know if it’s to reassure Sirius or himself.

“You say that, but you can’t promise me,” Sirius says bluntly although his tone is shaky. 

He’s right. Regulus can’t promise him that because while he’s not about to tell Sirius what he’s up to, he’s not going to make any false promises that he can’t keep either. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll live through the week. He hopes so, but probably, he’s not going to survive the mission he has to complete. Logically, the chances are small.

Sure, he could ask Sirius for help but he doesn’t think it’ll make much difference and he doesn’t want to involve the person he cares most about. He’s always wanted to protect Sirius and he’s not about to let him turn himself into the Dark Lord’s biggest target, along with himself. 

But how does one tell their twin that? The answer is probably, not at all. That’s at least what Regulus intends to do. The information will probably make no difference but prolonging Sirius’ suffering. 

So he doesn’t. But Sirius can tell that things are dire, anyway. 

“Can’t you stay, for a while?” he tries then, after a few moments of silence. “We have a spare room, and I would like that very much… I mean I’ve missed you so bloody much.”

“Thank you,” Regulus says. It’s a kind offer. Tempting, almost, but living with Sirius and his boyfriend would probably be a little awkward too. Although it would be fun to stay in the same home as Sirius. He hasn’t done that since they were sixteen, so it’s been almost three years. He misses it. And he hates to turn Sirius down when Sirius has gotten so good at communicating what he wants and feels, far better than Regulus’ lacking skills. Remus and Potter must’ve taught him something, at least. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Please,” Sirius pleads and gives him a look that further deepens Regulus’ suspicion that Sirius is in fact an animagus. Puppy eyes.

He wonders if Sirius knows that _he_ knows. It didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion, not when they go around calling themselves things such as Moony and Padfoot. Because, he has kept an eye on his brother, just like Sirius has done with him, even if Regulus always pretended like he didn’t. First out of anger, then out of safety reasons and then out of habit.

Regulus finds himself snorting softly. Suddenly, the exhaustion that lives deep in his bones these days comes back. He’s been holding it off for his entire visit but you can’t hold off such a thing forever. Exhaustion always catches up to you in the end. 

“I’m not free to move as I please, you know,” Regulus says softly, but his voice is hoarse. “You can only imagine the amount of lies I had to tell to even be here. Mother, Bella, the Dark Lord, Malfoy, the Lestrange's, Crouch, even Cissa. They’re all hovering over me, for their different reasons. None of them would like me to be here though, and they’ll come looking, and this flat will be known to several Death Eaters, eventually.”

Sirius looks straight into his eyes. “I don’t care.”

“Yes!” Regulus exclaims, because even the last time they meet — it has to be and he can tell Sirius worries about it too — they can’t help but to bicker. He flings his arms out, shrugging Sirius’ hands off him. _“Yes_ , you do. It’s not just you who lives here, it’s Remus too! And if they find you, I’m sure they’ll eventually find the rest of your lot as well. There’s always a clue, somewhere. You can’t fully erase the traces of your relationships, not in your own home and not when it comes to people _who know where to look.”_

After his outburst, he feels even more tired. Sirius seems to notice, because he shifts even closer, stubbornly grabbing Regulus’ shoulders once again, squeezing them tightly as he presses his eyes shut, as if they burn because he’s scared of Regulus disappearing. He wants to hold onto him, keeping him here forever. 

A part of Regulus could stay forever. But he needs to go. 

“I need to go, Siri,” he says and he can’t stop himself from choking up.

Sirius nods, looking angry and devastated at the same time. His grey eyes are glossy now too. 

Regulus’ nose starts to burn like acid and shortly followed by it, his eyes tear up as well. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Sirius murmurs. 

“I don’t want to go either,” Regulus admits, because he’s too tired to be strong anymore. “I’m sorry that I came here and only brought sadness. I’ve caused you so much sadness and anger and I’m sorry Siri. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You only did because I love you,” Sirius replies, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “And it’s not your fault. We weren’t given a true chance. It’s _their_ fault.”

“Yeah…” Regulus says and for the first time he truly gives in. “It is.”

Tears spill over from Sirius' eyes and two of them slowly roll down his cheeks. They glimmer in the bleak light of the settling sun outside the window. Regulus can tell that he’s been waiting for this moment, for years, for Regulus to finally admit it. That their family hasn’t been good to them. 

But he’s too bloody loyal, and now it’s too late. 

“But hey,” Regulus says, trying to be comforting although he never really learned how to be. He grabs Sirius’ left arm and holds it gently in his hands, flipping it over. “I’m _here.”_

He gestures to the tattoo of the constellation with his star marked out. The tattoo that represents him. His sight is so blurred with tears now that he can’t even make out the contours of it, but he knows where it sits on Sirius’ skin since it’s in the same spot as his Dark Mark. 

Sirius makes a choked sound and Regulus looks up to see his brother’s face twisted in despair, his forehead crinkled and eyebrows furrowed and lips wobbling and chin trembling.

“I’ll be with you, always, until we meet again,” Regulus whispers, and he doesn’t know what that actually means, in practice, nor when they’ll meet again, if it’s in life or behind the veil. 

But he needs Sirius to believe it.

Sirius grabs his hands, both of them, and squeezes them together, tightly, in his own hands. 

“Not too old,” Regulus murmurs and Sirius squeezes his eyes together, more tears leaving his eyes and rolling down to his chin, clinging to his jawline. That’s what he used to say.

Sirius’ hands are warm and Regulus’ cold like ice. They’re both trembling and Regulus blinks furiously so that he can see Sirius past the blurriness. 

“I need to go,” he murmurs after a few moments. 

Sirius nods, more tears spilling over, but doesn’t argue and Regulus knows that it’s time. He begins to slowly twist his hands out of Sirius’ grip, which isn’t an easy task, because Sirius does still fight it. 

Once they’re out though, his hands feel terribly cold. But still he takes a couple of steps back, returning the distance between them. It feels familiar like an old habit and usually Regulus likes that feeling but now he hates it. Absolutely _despises_ it. But he needs to keep it up, he needs to go forward from here on, like ripping off a band-aid. It’s the only way. Because the Mark is never coming off and he’ll be a slave to the Dark Lord until he or the other wizard dies, and for now, the other can’t be killed. 

“Until we meet again,” he hears himself say. He feels like he’s watching it all unfold from a third person’s point of view. 

“Until we meet again,” Sirius repeats miserably. He struggles to hold Regulus’ gaze with his teary eyes. 

“Take care of yourself, Siri,” he says, nodding once, a formal, learned gesture. 

And then he turns on his heels and opens the door to the flat, leaving through it. Just before he closes it behind himself, he thinks that he hears Sirius say _‘you too, Reggie’._

It’s only once he’s alone in the staircase that he lets the tears fall freely.

Inside the flat, Remus has tried to concentrate on his book but his heightened hearing and the painful sounds coming from the living room have made it hard. 

Regulus stayed for far longer than he expected, which makes him happy on one hand, but also the more worried about Sirius when the door finally does shut.

It doesn’t take long until a pain filled sound slips out of Sirius, somewhere between a sob and a whine, and Remus stands up to go and meet him.

Immediately, upon seeing Sirius on the floor, curled into a small ball by the wall, sobbing with tears cascading down his cheeks, Remus sails down to the floor too and pulls him into his embrace, wrapping himself tightly around him, like a shield. His heart lurches for him, because it’s so horrible, so raw, that it’s hard to believe that it’s true.

He now has to help Sirius with the difficult task of mourning someone who’s still alive. He doesn’t know how to do that, but he’ll try his absolute best. 

* * *

Sirius flies out of bed, clawing at his throat, his nails leaving red, angry marks. He lands on the floor, knees against the hard surface, barely catching himself with his elbows, but he doesn’t feel the impact, not with the way his lungs burn. 

Remus is there quickly, grabbing his shoulders, trying to anchor him, trying to help, to figure out what’s wrong, but to Sirius he’s distant. Sirius just sputters because he can’t breathe and his heart is thumping in his chest, and he’s never been so scared in his entire life. Ice cold fear floods through his body, twisting his stomach and making him sweat. 

Two things cross through his mind. 

Regulus.

And _drowning._

It feels like his head is about to implode from pressure and Sirius tugs at his black hair and he wants to scream but he _can’t_ and then suddenly it just stops. 

Sirius melts, slumping down onto the floor, cold floorboards against his warm face. Hands immediately flips his limp body over; hadn’t he felt them he would’ve thought he was dead. 

There’s a vast emptiness filling his body that’s hard to put into words. Sort of like there’s a black hole where his heart was before. Sucking everything into itself; his lungs, stomach, soul, are pulled into the black hole, leaving him just a shell. 

He feels hollow. 

He doesn’t have the energy to lift a finger. 

His heart is still pounding and his eyes are burning with tears and his throat closes as the realisation dawns upon him but he feels cold and empty and stiff and like a shell.

“What happened?” Remus breathes from somewhere above, clearly shaken. 

Sirius can barely open his mouth. He feels so heavy, his entire being. 

“Regulus,” Sirius says with a choked, twisted voice he doesn’t recognise. Even Sirius can hear that he doesn’t sound like himself. Remus seems to hold his breath as he waits for Sirius to go on, while Sirius grabs his left forearm so tightly that his knuckles whiten. “Reggie is dead.”

* * *

Remus finds Sirius one day, standing in _that_ room of 12 Grimmauld Place; the one with the tapestry. His grey eyes are attached to the spot where his name and picture used to be, now only a burnt, angry mark. He looks lost in thought.

Remus sort of wants to lead him out of there, because it can’t be good, _healthy_ , to stand in front of the godforsaken thing. 

But on the other hand, they’re both decidedly adults by now and they’ve spent more years apart than they have together now, with Sirius’ twelve years in Azkaban. 

So if Sirius wants to be here, then Remus will just have to let him. It’s Sirius’ house, it’s Sirius’ family, it’s Sirius’ feelings. He does come to stand next to him though, quietly. 

“That’s the spot,” Sirius says, thinking out loud, leaning just a tiny bit closer to Remus as he speaks up. He has his hands clasped together behind his back.

He looks sad. Sad, but properly dressed up, carefully put together, which somehow makes Remus’ heart ache more. He can tell that Sirius is making an effort to be the 36 year old man he is, instead of the 21 year old that he was, when he was sentenced for life. 

He’s also worried that it’s the _house_. That old habits die hard, and that his mother’s words still have an influence on him. In here, nothing else but clothes like these were tolerated. 

Sirius steps forward and traces the spot with calloused fingers. Remus hasn’t even seen the tapestry before, he’s only heard about it. He cranes his neck to look it over, it's a gigantic thing. It’s quite elegant — he can feel the history radiate off it — but with knowledge of what it symbolises, he can’t quite enjoy its beauty.

“I haven’t seen it before,” Sirius ponders and Remus is hit with the realisation that Sirius hasn’t been in here, since that night in 1975. 

Remus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t think it’s needed either. Sirius just needs someone to listen. 

He watches the other man’s eyes slip over to Regulus’ name and picture, an easy thing considering that it’s right next to the spot where Sirius’ once were. 

Remus looks at it too and his insides flips. The dates of his birth and death are dreadfully close to each other. 

He hadn’t been much older than Harry is now, when he died. They were all just kids still, it becomes clearer to Remus with each year that passes. He’s still on the younger side of an average human lifespan and he feels ancient compared to how old he was then. 

“I think about him every day,” Sirius admits and looks up at Remus, his eyes wistful and glossy. 

Remus nods, several times. “I can imagine.”

Sirius remains quiet so Remus continues, now that he’s started.

“We lost… we lost a lot of people, Padfoot,” he says quietly. “But I think about him sometimes too. Such an awful fate, for someone so young.”

“That is was,” Sirius replies, his voice a little bit higher than it was just a moment ago. “Some of my magic died with him, you know.”

Remus doesn’t. Well he figured that it was something along those lines — Sirius didn’t look right for a long time after that, grey and exhausted and moving like he was years older than he was — but Sirius has never said it so straight-forward before. 

“Still don’t know what killed him though,” Sirius finishes. “I mean, he drowned. But the context, I don’t know that. I don’t think dear Reggie just decided to go for a swim and had a cramp.”

Remus nods again. Terrible, all of it. They should really try to find that out, but there’s never time. It wasn’t, back then — no one knew a thing and they didn’t have the time to look further than to ask around, everyone who might know something that wouldn’t kill them as soon as they came close — and it isn’t now either because the bloody war is on again. Still, both of them know that there's something dark, yet to be uncovered, about it all. 

“Well,” Sirius says, straightening up and sucking in a deep breath. It’s clear that the moment of deep, bitter sadness is over. He even smoothes out his robes. “We should get back to business.”

“Okay,” Remus says. If Sirius would like that, then all right. 

Sirius gestures to the door, and Remus nods, walking towards it before Sirius. He stops outside and waits for the other.

Sirius lingers in the doorway, looking at the tapestry one last time - his silver eyes glimmering - before he puts the lights out and closes the creaking door gently behind him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hellu friends! Sorry about the angst. Like always, but you know me by now, it always ends up here, doesn't it?
> 
> I dunno why I wrote this. I can't even remember what sparked the idea (not that it's particularly original nor ground-breaking) but it was fun writing (and by that I mean I sort of tortured myself to the point that my own heart broke but that's the cost of writing these two). I recently went to a funeral as well so I guess I've been in touch with my feelings lately to say the least.
> 
> Either way, I feel like they both are a bit out of character, at least from how I usually see them, but that's what's fun about fanfics, you know? Especially with Regulus, I feel like there's a lot of room for improvisation and adding your own flare, since we know so little of him. And I've seen that there's been a lot of discussion and sort of Regulus-bashing on Tumblr lately, to which I would like to say that it's fine - what we know of him isn't great stuff - as long as you give people the space to write him as they please. It's a fictional character, one whose motives we know literally zero about, so if people (like me) wants to write him as an angsty, smol character that I just want to hug, then so be it. Nothing to fight over. Sure, he did stupid things (being a Death Eater really isn't something to recommend, not a great thing) but it's the shades of grey that makes it fun to write. The way you can make it totally devastating by making it so that Regulus didn't want the mark in the first place. Or if one wants to write him as a villain, that's cool too. 
> 
> Well, to get back on track, what did you think about that last meeting at Sirius' flat? I totally added heaps of affectionate gestures and I don't know if it was too much but I also really wanted to show the desperation of knowing that it's the last time. Also, I often think about if I'd think it was too much if it was two girls instead, just to check myself (I'm trying to get rid of useless things like that that society has taught me/us) and if not really, then it's fine. Let boys be affectionate with each other and show feelings, not that I think any of you would drastically disagree. 
> 
> Anyways, I've been rambling for far too long now. Thank you for reading! If you have any thoughts please leave them down below, I love hearing from you guys, and discussing things with you <3
> 
> Also! I have a youtube channel featuring a couple of Sirius & Regulus videos if anyone wants to check it out :)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSz1BvZFqLg&feature=youtu.be


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